Up a Creek
by friedmermaidtails
Summary: During a rescue mission by the other trolls, guilt over his actions of betrayal begins to break apart Creek's spirituality. He begins to lose faith in himself, confused as to why he was given a second chance. As he struggles to continue with his life back in Troll Village, he finds hope in an unlikely source - Branch. (Hiatus)
1. The Journey Home

"I believe that everything happens for a reason.

People change so that you can learn to let go, things go wrong so that you appreciate them when they're right, you believe lies so you eventually learn to trust no one but yourself, and sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together."

― Marilyn Monroe

* * *

Chapter One

The Journey Home

Creek gasped, his breath ragged from fear, and his eyes broadened. He bolted upright, glancing at his surroundings. His eyes darted from one point to another at a dizzying speed, yet he somehow registered enough of the surroundings to notice it was nighttime and he was outside.

"Wh-," he started to stammer, his throat painfully dry, "where am I?"

It was then that he noticed the coolness of metal pressed against his backside and that steel bars were blocking portions of his vision. Metallic clanks of a large lock bashing against those bars sent a chill down the troll's spine. Despite it being dark and his state of mind being discombobulated, it wasn't hard for Creek to infer he was in a cage.

"What's going on here? Wh-who's there?" He called out, straining his voice to make himself louder, to make his presence known. Silence was the only response, which filled him with conflicting emotions. He wasn't certain he was alone, for he felt the cage rocking as though it were being suspended by something or someone. "Ahem," he continued, putting on a false air of confidence, "I do believe I've asked you, whoever you may be, a question. It isn't polite to ignore someone, ya'know?"

Again, the sound of silence buzzed in his ears. He briefly crinkled his nose in frustration, but slowly felt his panic overtake all other emotions. Fear fueled his heart rate and breath, his lungs feeling too heavy for his chest. He could sense himself reaching the cusp of a panic attack, something he hadn't experienced since he'd learned the art of meditation. Naturally, he attempted to calm himself with the methods he'd mastered over the years; he drew in a deep breath and began to hum his mantra.

However, after the third or fourth repetition (each getting progressively louder and prolonged), a harsh shushing hit his ears. It was an oddly familiar hiss, drawing his mind away from his impromptu meditation.

"Shh, shh, shh," the familiar hiss continued, seemingly coming from nearby. Creek craned his head toward the sound, peering over his shoulder. "Be quiet," the voice insisted, speaking in a low, yet firm tone. "Are you trying to get us caught?"

Branch was dangling by one of the bars on the outer portion of the cage. He'd apparently climbed up the side, which was proven by his hand gesturing to the ground; the entire earth below was a sea of trolls.

"Br-Branch…? Branch, what's happening?"

"Shh!" Branch repeated, pressing his finger to the scowl curling along his lips. "Look," he began, sharpening his whisper, "we're taking you back to the village. Don't know why, but Poppy insisted we come back looking for you. We found you in the forest in the fanny-pack that Bergen chef lady was wearing. You're just lucky that it protected you from the digestive juices of that forest creature… and that Poppy is such a forgiving person."

Creek's face wrinkled with confusion, but soon stretched into shock and then guilt. His hazy memories were slowly strengthening and threading themselves together. Suddenly, he recalled everything – being kidnapped at the party, brought to Bergen Town, wrapped in a taco shell and shoved into the mouth of the king; it all crept back into focus. However, the memory that caused his face to soften with shame was the final few before he'd fallen unconscious. He'd made a deal with the devil, placing the lives of all his fellow trolls on the line to save his own skin. He'd let his emotions get the better of him and agreed to assist in the mass genocide of his own people.

"Oh," he murmured, unsure of how to respond. His stomach churned as the thoughts of his own actions made him sick. His eyes averted to the ground, unable to make eye contact with the troll in front of him.

"Branch!" Poppy's somewhat shrill voice called from the ground. "Is Creek okay?"

Branch released one hand from the bar in order to balance himself as he bent toward her. He wanted to answer without compromising the low volume of his voice. He managed to get himself low enough to the ground without returning to it, making him able to whisper to Poppy without leaving the cage.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think so. Although, I won't be able to know for sure until we get him back to the village."

Poppy gave a playful salute of understanding before instantly taking charge. She hopped on the balls of her feet, skipping to the front of the crowd. She began giving directions with her hands and boosting morale with a cheerful decree, "okay, everyone, let's go home! Trolls! Trolls!"

"Trolls! Trolls! Trolls!" The crowd mimicked her chant, their energy growing. They began to shake the cage they were carrying, lifting it much like a weight, in their triumph. This shifting caused Branch to instinctively cling to one of the cage's bars, hugging it in fear that he may fall.

Creek's eyes finally flicked back to Branch, watching as he desperately tried to keep his grip on the steel rod. Creek's face was blank for a moment until a change he'd failed to notice earlier suddenly registered. His brow quirked in confusion when he noticed bright teal skin and vivid blue locks practically glowing from within the darkness. "Branch? Branch, you're… you're blue? I mean, you're so… so colorful! You're practically glowing!"

"Yeah, yeah," the other snapped, still holding onto the bar and his lunch, which was swishing uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. The constant and uneven jostling was inducing a form of seasickness. "No thanks to you."

"But, how? How on earth did you ever-,"

"I don't have time to explain," Branch interrupted, glaring at the caged troll. "Besides, if you'd been with us in that pot, maybe you'd know how."

A flash of heartache and regret tainted Creek's face, the statement causing his stomach to churn for reasons other that the rocking cage. An apology flavored his tongue, but he found his throat too tight and dry to form speech. Instead, he rummaged through his turquoise hair and removed a pin. He shuffled across the cage's floor, the sound of his feet drawing the outsider's attention. "Here," he finally managed to say, passing the pin through the bars, "use this. It should be just strong enough to jimmy that pesky lock."

Suspicion creased Branch's brow, souring the beauty of his new vibrancy. His eyes narrowed as they observed the pin, then narrowed further when they focused on the other troll's face.

"Oh no, I'm not letting you out until we're as far away from here as possible," he bitterly explained, pushing the pin away. "You really expect me to think you won't go running back to Bergen Town and tell your precious Chef where we are?"

Creek sighed, "it wasn't like that, Branch." His tone was defensive, yet countered by an odd weariness. He rejected the others wish to return the pin and practically forced it into his hand. "This isn't to let me out, it's to let you _in_."

A snort of a laugh escaped from Branch's nose before he sarcastically responded, "thanks, but I'll pass on that one. Even if I did trust you, you kind of," he scrunched his nose at the smell still lingering from Creek, "well, smell..."

Despite the hurt weighing on his heart and mind, Creek couldn't help but give a small chuckle. He shrugged his shoulders, nodding in agreement. "Well, I suppose that tends to happen when one has been in the belly of a beast and – err, let's say – _excreted_. Shall we?"

A simple eye roll was the only reply.

"Okay, everybody," Poppy declared once again, hopping onto a rock and pointing toward the night sky. "That's the North Star, and that's what's going to get us back home." She reached into her pink locks and withdrew her cowbell, hitting it for a single powerful note. "Follow that star!" She pointed to the star again with her mallet before slipping the instrument back into its follicle home.

"Star! Star!" The swarm commenced to chant, shaking the cage more rigorously than before. Branch felt himself begin to slip and his head start to spin. His mouth gaped open to shout at the crowd, but before he could speak, Creek interjected.

"Please," he softly said, gesturing to the pin he'd given away earlier, "join me, Branch. It's much more comfortable in here, I can assure you. No risk off falling when there's a nice floor under your feet, yeah?"

While Branch's eyes narrowed once again, Creek picked up a flicker of contemplation in them. The blue eyes glanced aimlessly at the pin then toward the lock, slowly softening as the mind behind them gave up the fight. A sigh flitted from Branch's chest as he reluctantly started to leap from one bar to another, cautiously making his way toward the lock.

A sharp jolt of the cage nearly caused him to lose his grip, forcing him to grab tightly to the lock and absentmindedly shout into the crowd, "hey!"

The chanting trolls below, however, weren't able to hear him over their determination and their cries about the star. Branch grumbled under his breath when he went ignored, but continued his motions once he felt it was safe. He fumbled with the pin for a moment before jamming it into the lock's mechanisms. A few rough jostles and twists caused a series of clicking until a final, sharper click hit the air, the lock swinging open along with the door.

Without a word or any type of acknowledgment of the other, Branch clambered into the cage, letting the door swing behind him. He slipped against the smooth surface as another troll lifted his temporary home. He scowled, muttering to himself, "that's getting really old, really fast..."

Creek tittered, shaking his head at how, despite the new color scheme, the other was still typical Branch. The purple troll shuffled over to his new cellmate before sitting with his legs crossed and his arms resting peacefully atop his thighs. He flipped his hair and drew in a cleansing breath, falling back into his meditative state. A smile quirked the corners of his lips and he looked up at Branch.

"Have a seat, mate. I've got a hunch it's going to be a long ride home."

Despite the nagging in his gut, Branch's shoulders slumped and he obliged, taking a seat next to the person he trusted the least in the world. He looked toward the sky, staring at it from between the bars looming above them, growing caught up in his thoughts, which seemed as plentiful as the billions of stars.

"Yeah, a _really_ long ride..."

* * *

"I'm not upset that you lied to me, I'm upset that from now on I can't believe you."

― Friedrich Nietzsche


	2. Ride of Reflection

"If you want to be happy, do not dwell in the past, do not worry about the future, focus on living fully in the present."

― Roy T. Bennett, The Light in the Heart

* * *

Chapter Two

Ride of Reflection

Aside from the chanting trolls below, the air was silent. It harbored an awkwardness; a bitterness that neither Creek nor Branch were willing to address. They had few topics to speak of, so they simply didn't speak at all. Whether it added to the strain or lessened it, that was hard to place.

Creek's eyes were closed as he lowly hummed to himself, allowing him to turn a temporarily blind eye to the situation. Branch, however, didn't allow his guard down and kept watchful eyes. He glanced to the other, staring resentfully and attempting to process the events of the past few hours. A million thoughts burned like matches – they started with a great burn before quickly snubbing themselves out just before the root.

While he stared, Branch couldn't see through the red. He was furious, yet somehow managed to contain himself, opting instead to redirect his attention toward the sky. He gave a weighty utterance, pressing the back of his head against one of the metal bars and letting his hands take in the coolness of the floor. Despite hating the situation (and the smell of forest creature colon), he was oddly grateful Creek helped him into the cage.

With his attention on the stars, Branch began to cycle through his thoughts. How could Creek sell them out? How could Poppy want to save him again, especially after nearly wiping out the entirety of the troll race? Why did he seem so unnervingly calm and arrogant about it? But, the main question Branch couldn't answer was: why didn't he see the signs?

He replayed years worth of moments the village had with Creek, none suggesting someone so zen would do something so treacherous.

"Oh, I'm sensing a toxic vibration," Creek remarked, peering a single eye open to look toward Branch. "What's weighing so heavily on you, Branch? You absolutely reek of anxiety."

"Seriously? What kind of question is that?" The other barked, scoffing slightly. "What's weighing on me is you. How can you just offer us to the bergens on a silver platter and act like nothing happened? Yeah, well, it's better than smelling like stomach juices."

"Those are awfully harsh words. Now, I'm really beginning to wonder how you got your color back at all. You certainly don't seem to have changed that negative attitude of yours. Come on, mate, just let all those toxic energies flow from your body."

Branch snorted out another barbed laugh, "I wish I could let a _certain_ toxic energy out of this cage."

Creek sighed and shook his head, closing his eye once again to focus on his inner state.

"Yes, well, I believe we all know your feelings toward me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be meditating until we arrive home, and I can't have any more distractions."

Branch rolled his eyes, folding his arms across his chest and glaring at the steel bars overhead. He grumbled, "you were the one to start talking first..."

A hum was the only response, but he knew Creek had acknowledged the comment. Branch, however, didn't care if the other had or hadn't; it only mattered that they'd reestablished their bridge of silence. He'd grown fond of that bridge, as it postponed the stress of a possible confrontation. It wasn't that he'd oppose to giving the other a piece of his mind, but he felt causing a scene would only dampen the other trolls' new perspective of him.

A hard swallow left a pain in his chest. He felt as though he'd swallowed a bullet, the anxiety sitting on his chest like an anvil. It wasn't until he gazed at his hands and noted their teal hue that he truly realized he'd never be able to be the same as he was. Despite all the animosity toward Creek, the paranoia of the future, the doubt of the truce between trolls and bergens – despite all the conflict raging within him, Branch knew he'd never be able to be a blunt again.

He was no stranger to suppressing his feelings in the past, but he had an outlet. His sarcasm was part of him that had become a separate entity, almost like a friend. He'd grown comfortable with his witty tongue and ability to express pent-up emotions in such a roundabout manner. He never had to reveal himself, at least not entirely. Yet, as he observed his hands and the royal blue hair drooping into his vision, he suddenly realized that his crutch was gone.

Branch's heart fell into a wonky rhythm, causing him to pull his knees to his chest. He curled his arms around his legs and buried his face in his knees. The brightened locks tickled the flesh exposed beyond the legs of his shorts, which made him recoil that much further into himself. Using his knees as a silencer, he muttered to himself, "what's the worst that could happen? So what if everyone's going to expect me to change. I mean, it can't be that hard; I did get my colors back after all. That's gotta mean somethi-,"

"Ahem," Creek coughed, his hum turning into a throat clearing gesture. He watched as Branch's head twisted to face him, finding them eye-to-eye. Creek sternly glared for a moment before allowing his expression to melt. His eyes scanned over the opposite's body as he piped up, "are you sure there isn't anything the matter? You're mumbling to yourself again. You always did have a nervous habit of that."

"I do not!"

"Whoa, whoa, easy there, Branch," Creek tittered, his freckled face lighting up with a delicate smirk. "It was only an observation. I am rather good at reading the other trolls, you know? And, you're no exception."

"What do you mean?" Branch asked, cursing himself for the hint of curiosity that peppered his question. In an attempt to lessen his vulnerability, he morphed his face into a scowl. "Hey! I thought you said you wanted to be left alone!"

Creek tutted and shook his head in mock disapproval. He playfully patted his counterpart's shoulder, which jerked away as he'd predicted.

"A bit defensive, aren't we? It wouldn't happen to have anything to do with your fears of rejection, by any chance?"

"I..!" Branch began with a defensive shout before adjusting his abrupt temper. He cleared his throat and calmed his voice, a phony smile quivering at the ends of his lips. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, but you do. All that poisonous thinking going on in that head of yours; it's going to be the end of you one day."

Branch scoffed, turning his head to face away from his cellmate. A shallow breath left his lips as he struggled to balance his feelings. He'd been gray, depressed, anxious, and paranoid for as long as he could remember. He remembered the very moment his colors drained, down to the exact second he could recall when they'd fully died. He remembered it well, for it was the day his colors and his innocence perished, alongside his grandmother.

Yet, he sat with vibrancy exuding from his cells. His skin was teal, his hair was blue, his nose was a radiant shade of violet – his colors had been revived. After years of adjusting to being without them, he suddenly found it awkward to look at himself in full saturation. It was curious how a single drop of happiness was enough to sweeten his tongue. Regardless of how many times he'd tried to restore that happiness in the past, it had to take such a tragic event to achieve it. Just as tragedy had robbed him, it, too, had delivered him.

Branch groaned as a realization popped into his mind. Had he not sung to give Poppy her colors back, he would have never felt the rush of hues tingling his flesh. It dawned on him that, in a curious and almost sickening way, Creek was mostly to thank. Had Creek not betrayed them, they would have never been placed in that pot, Poppy never would have broken down to a shadow of herself, Branch never would have sung to cure her, and he never would have gotten the taste of happiness that seemingly healed him. He hated to admit it, even if it was only to himself, that Creek had inadvertently helped him. Creek had been the root that returned the various shades of blues shining from Branch's veins.

"Right," he murmured, frustrated with his thoughts. "Why don't you just get back to humming that stupid mantra of yours and leave me alone?"

Sensing the odd mixture of emotions flooding from the grouchy troll, Creek sighed and nodded. He returned to his usual mediation pose, breathing the last bit of conversation out of the air, "if that's what you wish."

Once again, silence filled the gap between the two. The other trolls below were still chanting and cheering, but their voices became white noise to the two in the cage. Branch had drifted into a suffocating sea of thoughts, each one a wave threatening to sweep him under; Creek had fallen into a state of near sedation, his mantra calming him and the events of the evening catching up with him. While Branch sat propped against the bars in an inner state of panic, Creek had slumped onto the floor of the cage and managed to find slumber.

* * *

Poppy was sweating and her breathing was labored. She swiped her inner arm across her brow before turning back to the crowd. She pointed toward the sky, which was painted with beautiful shades of caramel and lavender.

"Look, everyone," she happily cried, smiling brightly, "the sun's coming up." She then stretched a finger out toward a series of mammoth mushrooms, leaves, and flowers on the horizon. "We're almost there!"

Everyone in the crowd sleepily cheered. Their journey had left them sweaty and tired, but their morale refused to fade. They all wore groggy grins, the sight of the outskirts of the village boosting their pep. With a closing chant of victory, they marched perfectly in uniform deeper into the village.

The familiar sights and smells lulled the trolls into security, each of them heaving a sigh of relief when they could finally set the cage on the ground. Branch jumped at the sudden change, feeling the floor hit against the earth. He craned his neck to where Creek lay, noticing the lump was still sleeping. Branch rolled his eyes at this, grumbling about his frustrations over the opposite's contentment. Regardless, he placed a hand atop Creek's shoulder, roughly shaking him.

"Wha-," came the half-conscious reply, the exhausted troll starting to stir. "Branch? Where are we?"

As his lips formed to speak, Branch was cut off by Poppy approaching the cage. Her eyes were drowsy, but a gleaming smile rested upon her lips. She reached her hand to the open lock and pulled it from the bars, allowing the door to fully swing open. She giggled a bit, noticing the groggy Creek glancing around as though he were lost.

"Nice of you to join us, sleepyhead," she joked, leaning against the cage's doorway. "Oh," she continued, turning her attention to Branch. Her smile faded a bit and her brow quirked with concern as she noted the heavy bags beneath her friend's eyes. "Branch, are you okay? You look… weird?"

Branch forced a chuckle, "gee, thanks, Poppy." He staggered out of the cage, making sure to block Creek's exit in the process, then carried on, "I'm fine. I think we're all pretty exhausted after last night."

While skeptical, the pink troll shrugged, "yeah… I guess so. But, are you sure you're okay?"

"Poppy," Branch breathed, placing reassuring hands on her shoulders and giving her a feeble grin, "I'm fine." He playfully chucked her under the chin, causing her smile to return to its former glory.

The conversation was set, but was interrupted before it could gain any real substance. King Peppy had managed his way through the crowd, cheerfully waddling toward his daughter and unwittingly disrupting the group's chat. His face beamed with pride as he wrapped an arm around his child's shoulders. He placed a small kiss to her forehead and proudly spoke, "I'm so proud of you, Poppy!"

"Thanks, dad," the woman bashfully smiled, happy she was able to save her kingdom as she'd always wanted.

The two shared a hug before King Peppy began to depart, only to stop himself a few steps away. He returned back to the group, laughing heartily at his mistake. "Oh, I almost forgot! Are you ready for your coronation, princess?"

* * *

"In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on."

― Robert Frost


End file.
